It was while sleeping on Sleeping Mountain that I encountered the headless horseman.

It had been an arduous day, uphill all the way.

Rest was screaming at me to give it a go, and so I fell into my sleeping bag and drifted off.

It was sometime later when I was awoken by the sound of a horse galloping my way. It came closer and closer, and I became frightened at the intrusion into my camp. Soon under the light of the silvery moon, I made out the approaching horse. The rider was encased in a black robe, but as it came closer, I could see there was no head upon the rider’s shoulders.

As he drew level with my camp, the horse reared, and I could see the silver horseshoes against the night sky.

It then came to a complete stop, and the rider appeared to be looking at me, at least it would have if it had a head.

Then the rider raised an arm and pointed to the west and rode off. As the dust settled the atmosphere on the mountain returned to its sleeping self.

I wondered if upon my return my grandchildren would believe what I had just seen.